"HERE'S A COIL!"
"Hugh, when will it be finished--truly? I am so weary of to-morrow, and
to-morrow, and to-morrow, and it never gets any nearer! Father is
longing, too, for all he pretends to be patient."
"It is finished now," answered Hugh, gloomily, "only I cannot keep my
hands from it."
"In good sooth! And art not glad?"
"Nay. It is not what I would have it. I had such brave ideas, and they
have all come to naught, as ever. Joan, will one ever be satisfied?"
"I have heard father say something about `a noble discontent.' I did
not understand it, but maybe this was in his mind. And I don't think he
is ever satisfied with his own work. But thine is sure to be
beautiful," cried Joan, brightening. "Is it really then to be
to-morrow?"
"Nay; the bishop has decided that as four or five are nearly ready, they
shall wait to be uncovered together on Lammas Day. The best is to have
the choice of the other corbels."
"And which shalt thou choose?" demanded Joan securely.
"There will be no choosing for me. Master Hamlyn has a beautiful design
of pears and apples, they say, and Franklyn of vine leaves, and there is
that traitor Roger, he can work. I shall grudge it to him, but not to
old Wat. Joan, I verily believe that Wat's will be one of the best."
"Hath he really stuck Spot up there?"
"Hath he not?" said Hugh, with a laugh. "There he is, to the life, at
the base, but 'tis so cleverly done, and he thinks so little of it!"
"Lammas Day!" sighed Joan, "a whole three weeks! I shall get one of
your tally sticks, and cut a notch for every day. I shall stitch a new
coat for Agrippa, and take him with me under my arm. Where art thou
going? To the Cathedral?"
"Nay, I had best keep away from the Cathedral. I am going to speak with
the bridge warden, for a mischievous loon has knocked away a bit of the
monument to Master Gervase, in his chapel on the bridge, and they have
sent up here for some one to repair it."
Elyas had recovered so marvellously that scarcely any trace of his
severe attack was noticeable except to those who knew him best. He did
not mount on ladders, but in other respects had resumed work, and had
been frequently at the Cathedral in consultation with the bishop, who
was delighted to have his right-hand adviser again. Of course he might,
had he so pleased, have seen the corbels, finished or unfinished, which
were being executed by his own men, but he had determined to wait for
the general view, and to give his voice as to the best with the other
judges. Meanwhile, his interest was intense, and he could talk of
little, so that Prothasy, between husband, child, journeymen, and
prentice, had some reason for vowing that she could not get a sensible
word on any subject from a creature in the house.
And this excitement increased as Lammas Day drew nearer. Roger said
little, but his pale face grew paler, his lips more tightly set, and
there was a feverish light in his eyes which spoke of a fire within.
Franklyn, who was one of the last, worked stolidly on, very much as he
had been used to work in the yard, taking it as a matter of business to
be got through fairly and conscientiously, and knowing the value of his
work so well that he was not troubled with fear of failure. Wat was
wild with conjectures, thinking most of all about Hugh, but also
devoured by a wish that he had given more care to the beginning of his
work, and ready, if other justice failed, to break Roger's head sooner
than allow him to enjoy the fruit of his wickedness.
The last of Joan's notches was made at last, and Lammas Day dawned,
fair, and hot, and tranquil. Joan was up with the lark, looking very
sweet and maidenly in her new blue kirtle, and seeing that the green
branches were ready which she had brought in the day before in order to
deck the house as soon as either of their own workers was declared to be
first.
"Saving Roger," she announced. "There shall be no decking for Roger."
Her father rebuked her for her lack of charity, but he himself looked
uneasy, for he could not forget that Roger had been one of his family,
and treated as a son, and it pained him to the heart to suppose that he
could be guilty of such baseness as that of which he was suspected. He
hoped with all his heart that his work would prove him innocent.
On all Sundays and holy days the officers of the city, the mayor, the
sheriff, the aldermen, the wardens of Exe bridge, and at times the
members of the guilds, were bound to attend the bishop to St Peter's
Church. But this day had in it the promise of an especial ceremony, one
in which the bishop took deep interest. The office of nones being ended
in the Lady Chapel, the procession was to enter the choir, where six
corbels, for the first time uncovered, were to meet the eyes of the
spectators. And this being so, the usual number was greatly increased,
and presented a splendour of colour which at this time can hardly be
realised. The ecclesiastical dress was extremely gorgeous, and here
were bishop, dean, and chapter in full robes, the mayor and aldermen not
far behind in magnificence, with a great preponderance of blue in the
civil dresses, and robes lined with fur (or vair). The guilds added
their brilliancy of colour, the craftsmen wearing their distinctive
dress, and as the procession swept round into the choir, the sunlight
falling brilliantly through the stained glass windows, in themselves one
of the wonders of the time, and as all the beauty of the choir revealed
itself, the grey Purbeck stone contrasting delicately with the somewhat
yellowish tinge of the walls, the scene was one of amazing splendour,
and the burst of song which broke forth as the singers raised the psalms
of degrees, told that it had touched an answering chord in the hearts of
the people. Most of the great families of the county had sent some
representative. There were Grenvils and Fitz-Ralffes, Greenways of
Brixham, Bartholomew and Joan Giffard of Halsberry, Sir Roger Hale, and
numbers of ladies wearing long trains, and gold-embroidered mantles, and
on their heads veils; while the black or grey frocks of the friars from
the neighbouring priories gave the necessary relief to colour which
might otherwise have been too dazzling. Lammas Day, moreover, was the
day of Exeter fair, which added to the concourse.
But Joan had no eyes for any of this great assemblage. She could just
catch sight of Hugh moving on in his place among the guild apprentices,
and she could see that his head was bent, and knew that his hands would
be knotted together, as was ever the way with him when he was feeling
strong emotion. But even Joan, clasping her mother's hand, and sending
her heart out to him in sympathy, little knew what a storm of feeling
was surging up in the young man's heart. His father had never seemed so
near. He understood, as he had never understood before, the
wood-carver's longing to see his name famous; he understood, too, that
higher longing which had moved him before his death. In this work of
his Hugh had resigned the ambition for his own honour and glory, for he
honestly believed that all he had done had been to carry out his
master's design, and was unaware of what his own power had added. Nor
was he going in with hope that even this execution would surpass that of
the others. He knew his own shortcomings, they often seemed to him to
be absolutely destructive, and he imagined all the excellences he had
dreamed of distributed among the others. But at this moment it scarcely
troubled him; what he felt was the solemnity and beauty of the scene,
the glory of the building, the greatness of having been permitted to
help in making it beautiful; he raised his head and a light shone in his
eyes, for he knew that his father's deepest yearnings would have been
satisfied. There were the six corbels, fair and fresh from the carvers'
hands, the rich stone with its almost golden tints adding the charm of
colour to the nobility of the work; there were the clustered columns,
massive, yet light, and high up the glorious lines of vaulting. Right
on one of the corbels--it was Wat's--struck a shaft of sunlight, and as
the long procession crossed this gleam, all the brilliant colours were
intensified, and the upturned faces of the little acolytes looked like
those of child-angels. The procession did not pause. It swept through
the choir and out of the side gate, still chanting the psalms of
degrees, till the voices died away, and the choir was filled by those
who had come to see Bishop Bitton's work thus nobly carried out.
Hugh did not return--he could not, though Franklyn had almost dragged
him by force, and told him that Gervase had asked for him. He shook off
Wat, who begged him at least to come outside and see the horses and
trappings of the Lord of Pomeroy who had come in from his castle of
Biry, a castle much renowned in the county, and who was famous for his
success in the jousts. Here was his coal-black horse Paladin, whose
sire he had brought back from the Crusades, and the noblest mastiff Wat
had ever beheld, and such a jester as--
But Hugh was gone.
His heart was too full for speech with anyone. He had always been a
self-restrained boy who, when deeply moved, liked to be alone, and
sometimes vexed faithful Joan by escaping even her sympathy. And now he
felt as if only the woods could shelter him. He loved them deeply, he
went to them for inspiration for his work; he went now when he wanted he
knew not what, for it was neither comfort nor rejoicing, only an
over-fulness of heart. He could not have told whether he had failed or
succeeded, for the perception of something higher than success had
touched him, and it was this which drove him forth into the solitudes of
the woods.
When an hour had passed the throng had left the choir, and the bishop
and chapter, together with all the officers of the Guild of Stonemasons,
came in once more to pronounce upon the work. Bishop Bitton was
strangely moved. He saw before him a work, not yet, it is true,
complete, yet, for the length of his episcopate, marvellous; a work in
which he had loyally carried out the lines laid down by his predecessor.
His health was failing, and the conviction was strong upon him that not
many years of life remained to him. He, too, like Hugh, would have
thankfully passed these hours alone, but for him it was not possible; he
must listen to the kindly congratulations of the dean, the half-veiled
spite of the precentor, the unintelligent praise of others. But all the
while his heart was sending up its thankful _Nunc dimittis_.
And Gervase? His thoughts were perhaps the most mingled of any, and the
most unselfish. To him the desire of his soul had not been granted. He
had been forced to relinquish it to others, yet he could rejoice
ungrudgingly, giving full meed of praise and admiration. And, indeed,
the corbels were of noble beauty. From one to another the groups
passed, pausing to note each characteristic, and so fair was each that
it was hard to gather judgment.
With one exception.
Unanimously Hugh's corbel, or, as it was rather called, Gervase's, was
declared the best both in design and execution. It varied from the
others, in which the whole mass was formed of leafage, while this was
broken by curved lines round which the foliage grouped itself, and
nothing could have been more admirable than the freedom of the lines,
and the grace and spontaneousness of the design. The bishop, after
standing long to gaze at it, turned and stretched out his hand to Elyas.
"This is a proud day for thee, friend," he said heartily, "for by common
consent thy design is held so far to surpass all the others that there
is not one can come near it. And thy prentice hath ably carried out thy
views."
"He hath done more, my lord," said Elyas, quickly; "the parts of the
design which delight you all are his, not mine. Never saw I aught more
enriched than my thoughts in his hands. There is none other to equal
it, that I allow, but the credit belongs to Hugh Bassett, not to Elyas
Gervase."
The bishop looked incredulously at him, and others who had gathered
round shook their heads.
"'Tis impossible," said the bishop. "Bethink thee, goodman, the lad,
though clever in his craft, is youngest of all the workmen. Thou hast
ever favoured him, and maybe art scarcely aware how much thy skill hath
aided him."
"My lord, no one knows better than myself how much and how little."
But Gervase, to his great distress, found that his protestations were
disregarded. Some, like the bishop, believed that in his zeal for his
apprentice, in whom it was known that he took more than usual interest,
he did not remember all the advice he had given; others were perhaps
willing to yield the first place to one who as a leading burgess was
greatly respected in the city, and whose illness had raised the ready
sympathy of all, while 'twould have been another matter to put a lad--
younger than any--there. Hardly one was there who would give the credit
of more than an excellent execution to Hugh, though Elyas grew hot and
fevered with his efforts to persuade them of the truth, and could
scarcely keep his usually even temper under the congratulations which
poured upon him, and which made him feel like a traitor, though a most
unwilling traitor, to Hugh. The master of the guild, who was an old man
and deaf, especially pooh-poohed his remonstrances.
"I mind me, goodman, that when thou wast a prentice, and an idle one, I
ever maintained that the day would come when thou wouldst do us credit,
and thy father, honest man, he cast up his hands, and `Alack, Master
Garland,' quoth he, `the day is long in coming!' `The day is long in
coming,' those were his very words. What dost thou say? My hearing is
not so sharp as it was--thy prentice? Ay, ay, the lad hath done well,
very well, but anyone can see whose was the band that directed his."
"Beshrew me if they will not soon persuade me that I am an old dotard,
knowing neither what I say nor what I do!" cried Elyas angrily to his
fellow-warden. "I shall hear next that I have carved the _surs_ myself!
Hugh shall show them what he can do when he has his next corbel to
carry out alone. I will not even look at it."
"It is said that that he will not have," replied John Hamlyn drily.
"Not? And wherefore?"
"The judges maintain it should be given to one whose corbel has been
solely his own work. I have withdrawn from the competition, having much
to execute for my Lord of Pomeroy, and some say it should fall to thy
man Wat, whose scratching dog is marvellously well managed, but, unless
I am mistaken, the greater part hold to another man of thine--Roger.
His design is most delicately intricate."
Gervase was greatly disturbed.
"I would have had naught to do with the matter had I believed in such
unfairness," he said, with heat. "I would I had never asked the poor
lad to give up his own work to do mine, nor hampered him with my
design!"
"Take it not so much to heart, goodman."
"Nay, but I must, I must. 'Tis the injustice that weighs on me, and
shame that Hugh should be served so scurvily. Roger! I shall speak
presently with the bishop."
He redoubled his earnestness, speaking, indeed, with so much decision,
that the bishop was impressed. But, as he said, the feeling among the
judges was very strong, and he did not himself believe that anything
could be advanced that would turn them. There was, moreover, a
conviction that Hugh was young enough to wait, and therefore, though a
doubt might exist, they were opposed to giving him the benefit of the
doubt. Nor could anything which Elyas advanced shake their
determination. Something, it was true, was whispered as to an ugly
story of a ladder, but the thing had never been proved against Roger,
and except among the workmen had been forgotten. And the workmen were
not the judges.
Ladders were now procured, and the corbels were minutely examined.
Nothing, it was freely owned, approached the beauty of Hugh's, and no
other exceeded it in admirable workmanship. If both design and
execution had been his, there could have been no question; as it was--
"The obstinate fools!" growled Gervase, under his breath.
Finally the workers were themselves admitted, Wat coming in eager and
triumphant, with the certainty that Hugh's success was assured, and
Roger pale, nervous, glancing furtively from side to side, as if trying
to read his fate in the faces round. Wat strode joyously to Gervase.
"Where is Hugh?" asked his master.
"Gone off, sir, in one of his solitary moods. But Mistress Prothasy is
preparing a rare feast in his honour." Then, as he noticed Gervase's
grave face, he stopped and stared at him.
"Ay, Wat, it is even so," said Elyas, bitterly.
"These wise men will have it that the _surs_ is my designing, and that
Hugh hath but carved it. Heardest thou ever such injustice? I may
talk, and they pay no more heed than if I were--thy dog whom thou hast
set up there. And, by the mass," he added kindly, "thou hast done him
marvellous well, and there has been a talk of thy having the other
corbel."
"I would not have taken it," said Wat hotly.
"I had rather it had been in thy hands than in Roger's."
"Roger, goodman!" cried Wat, starting forward. "Not that traitor?"
"Peace, peace! I am as grieved as thou, but we know not that he is a
traitor."
"Ay, by my troth, but I do!" Wat persisted, "and so shall they all.
Where is Warden Hamlyn?"
"Nay, I know not. It is not long since he was here," answered Elyas,
surprised. "What hast thou in thy mad head? Bethink thee, Wat, we do
Hugh but harm to bring charges which we cannot prove, and though it was
a foul act to cut that ladder--"
"It is not the ladder, goodman," cried Wat, earnestly. "Thou wast ill,
and we did not tell thee of the other villainy. Hast thou looked at
Roger's corbel?"
"Ay," with surprise.
"Is it new to thee?"
"Nay, I seemed to know every twist of the ivy. But I thought--my memory
plays me scurvy tricks since my illness--I thought, though I could not
call it to mind, that Roger must have brought it to me to ask my
counsel. Surely it was so?"
"Nay, goodman, when did Roger ask thy counsel? It was Hugh who brought
it to thee, and, knowing Roger's evil disposition, we were ever on the
watch against eavesdropping and prying. But the day thou wast taken
with thy sickness Hugh forgot it, and Roger stole the design. And now!
But he shall not gain his end," cried Wat, fiercely. "Goodman, where
shall I be most likely to find Master Hamlyn?"
"Go and ask his head man there. But what good can he do thee?"
Wat, however, was already off, blaming himself bitterly that in the
excitement of the morning, and his undoubted certainty that Hugh was
secure of being first, he had omitted to remind the warden of what he
held in trust. To add to his dismay, he could get no tidings of John
Hamlyn. Each person he asked said he had been there but now, and must
be somewhere close at hand, but he never arrived nearer, though he
scoured the Cathedral from end to end, and brought upon himself a severe
rating from the precentor. Then in despair he rushed off to Hamlyn's
house, where he met the warden's wife and daughter setting forth to find
out what was going on at the Cathedral. Even in the midst of his
anxiety, Wat was suddenly seized with the conviction that Margaret
Hamlyn, with her dark eyes and her primrose kirtle, was the sweetest
maiden he had ever beheld, and she showed so much desire to help him,
and was so very hopeful as to their finding her father, that before ten
minutes were over he had not the smallest doubt on the matter.
Nevertheless, nothing could be heard of Hamlyn. Wat met Joan, who had
been waiting and watching for Hugh until she could keep away no longer,
and was come to seek Elyas with a little bundle tucked under her arm,
from which she allowed a quaint wizened face to peep at Wat. Her
confidence that all was well for Hugh, and her pretty pleasure in
bringing Agrippa to join in his triumph, were so great that Wat had not
the heart to damp them by telling her of the untoward turn events had
taken; he only said impatiently that things were not yet settled, and
that Hugh was an ass to go and bury himself in the green woods instead
of coming forward with the others.
"Do they want him?" asked Joan stopping.
"Nay, I know not that they want him," returned Wat, "but he should be
there."
"Then I shall go back and watch for him," she said resolutely. "Mother
is busy with the supper and might not see him. I know where he is gone,
and he must come in by the North Gate, and I will get the keeper to let
me sit there and wait. I will bring him, Wat, never fear."
But as the minutes flew and nothing was seen of John Hamlyn, Wat began
to wish that he had done nothing to draw Hugh to a place where he would
only find his own just meeds passed over, and evil-doing triumphant.
Gervase stood apart from his friends; he was sick at heart, feeling as
if he had been the cause of all that had happened to Hugh, from his
desire to see his own designs carried out. Perhaps he had not yet
regained his usual healthy buoyancy, for all looked black; he felt
strangely unable to influence those with whom his word had always
carried weight, but most of all he grieved for Roger's treachery.
Presently there was a little stir among the knot of judges, and
Franklyn, who was near them, came over to Elyas, and whispered--
"It is all decided, goodman."
"For Roger?"
"Ay. It should have been Hugh's to my thinking, for the lad hath
surpassed us all. But they vow it is thy design."
"Ay, they know better than I do," said Elyas bitterly. "See they are
calling him up."
Roger, indeed, was moving towards the group with an air which had gained
assurance since he first came into the choir. The old master of the
guild spoke in his quavering voice.
"Of these carvings which have been placed here to the honour of God and
His holy Apostle, it is held that thine, Roger Brewer, is the most
complete. Thou art therefore permitted to undertake the carving of
another corbel, and to make choice of which thou wilt for thyself."
Somebody started forward.
"Sir, it is no design of his; he is a false braggart, and stole it from
Hugh Bassett."
A great confusion arose, angry looks were turned on Wat, and the bishop
moved forward and raised his hands.
"Methinks, masters, you forget in whose house we be. That is a grave
accusation. Hast thou answer to make, Roger Brewer?"
"Ay, my lord," said Roger, standing boldly forward. "I say it is a foul
lie, and that he is ever seeking to do me a mischief, and I demand his
proofs."
"That hast thou a right to require. Where are the proofs?"
"My lord, I have them not, but--"
Roger broke in with a scornful smile.
"Said I not so? You see, my lord."
In his turn he was interrupted by a grave voice, "My lord, the proofs
are here. I but waited to see whether he would have the grace to
withdraw his claim;" and John Hamlyn, stepping forward, raised a broad
board so that it might be seen of all. "Will the judges say whether
this design is the same as that carved by Roger Brewer?"
There was a close examination and comparison, at the end of which the
master, after consultation with the others, raised his head.
"It is undoubtedly the same."
"Now," continued Hamlyn, turning the board, "there is writing here,
which you and I, my masters, cannot fathom. Maybe my lord bishop will
have the grace to construe it for us."
The bishop advanced, and in a clear voice read, "Hugh Bassett, Saint
George's Day, A.D. 1303."
"Wat, repeat thy story," said Hamlyn quietly. "I have kept thy proof
safely, though truly until this day I knew not what it was worth."
Thus adjured Wat, though finding it hard to keep down his excitement,
told what he had to tell straightforwardly and well. He related how,
having his suspicions raised, he had warned Hugh to beware of Roger, and
how on the day of Gervase's illness the design had disappeared. That
then it had come into his mind to advise Hugh to draw it again, to place
a date upon it and give it into Mistress Prothasy's keeping. That she
had held it safely until Master John Hamlyn took it from her, and that
from the day of the date Hugh had never had it in his hands nor so much
as seen it.
This was all, but with the board before them, it was evidence which
could hardly be strengthened, and if more were needed, Roger's white,
fear-stricken face supplied it. There was a significant silence, broken
at last by the bishop's voice.
"Where is Hugh Bassett?" he asked.
"Now, in good sooth, was ever anything so foolish as that he should have
hidden himself as he hath done?" whispered the provoked Wat to his
neighbour. But at that moment the circle of interested citizens opened,
and Hugh, looking flushed and disturbed, came forward, while behind him
were Elyas and Joan.
"Hugh Bassett," said the bishop, pointing to the board, "is that thy
work?"
"Ay, my lord," he answered in a low voice.
Again a pause.
"Thou hast heard the relation of its keeping?"
"Nay, my lord, I have but this moment come into the church."
"Let us hear what thou hast to say."
Hugh told his story, which agreed in every respect with that already
related. While it was telling the miserable Roger tried to slip away,
but at a sign from Hamlyn two members of the guild silently placed
themselves on either side. Then Elyas stepped forward.
"I speak with pain, my lord," he said, "for Roger Brewer is my
journeyman and hath been my apprentice, but to keep silence were to sin
against this holy place. My sickness hath made me oblivious, but the
ivy is strangely familiar to me, and I mind me that Hugh ever brought
his designs to show me, while Roger had no such habit. Moreover,
although you have refused to listen to what I said as to the corbel
carved by Hugh Bassett, I would urge upon you to consider it viewed in
the light of what has now passed."
He was listened to in absolute silence, and presently bishop, chapter,
and judges retired to consult, while the others waited, and Elyas, whose
kind heart was deeply grieved for Roger, drew off and knelt in prayer.
The consultation was not long, the judges came back, and once again the
old master delivered their judgment.
"It having been proved that Hugh Bassett rather than Roger Brewer
designed the ivy corbel, it is declared that his work standeth first in
merit, and he is granted the carving of another corbel, and the choice
of pillar."
Had it not been church Wat would have leapt high in the air.
No more was said, for it was not the fitting place in which to deal with
Roger's misdoing, which would be the work of the guild, but he was
removed by the two men who had him in charge, and those who were left
pressed round Hugh to seize his hand. He had known nothing of the first
acts of the drama, but his day in the quiet woods was no ill preparation
for this moment of success. Elyas came up and laid a broad hand on his
shoulder, and Joan slipped hers into Hugh's.
"Come home and tell mother," she whispered.
But when they at length got outside the Cathedral door a strange and
unexpected sight met them, for Wat, who was a great favourite with the
apprentices, had rushed out, and in an incredibly short time had
gathered a large number together, and marshalled them at the door to
greet Hugh when he came. There was no need to bid them cheer; the
tidings that one of their number had gained so great an honour raised
them to wild enthusiasm, and made them forget their usual rivalries;
they pressed round the Cathedral door, and when he came out, literally
flung themselves upon him, shouting at the top of their voices, and
waving sticks or anything which came to hand; finally, in spite of all
he could do, seizing and bearing him off in their arms, carrying him in
triumph through Broad Gate out into the High Street, and joined by fresh
boys at every turn of the road. Citizens ran out on hearing the tumult,
the watchmen caught up their staves and hurried forth, the Pomeroy and
Ralegh retainers cheered them on, all the windows and balconies were
quickly filled with women who laughed and waved their hands, and the
mayor himself, so far from showing any anger, stood in a balcony and
flung down largesse upon the shouting lads. Nothing would suffice, but
to carry Hugh all down the steep street to Exe bridge, where, near seven
years before, he had come in under such different circumstances, and,
hot and shamefaced as he was, he could not but think of this, and scarce
knew where he was for the thinking.
Hot he might be, but there was no persuading them, to put him down, and
up the street they went again, cheering still, and between the old
houses, until they stopped at Gervase's door, where Elyas himself stood
with Prothasy, and Joan clapping her hands with all her might. And
there was more shouting and rejoicing when Elyas bid all the prentices
to a feast in the meadows on St Bartholomew's Day, his own house not
having space for such a number.
They separated at last, and reluctantly, after such a shrill burst of
cheering as rang through the old city, and Hugh, who felt as if it were
all some strange exciting dream, was thankful to find himself alone with
those good friends to whom he owed his present fortune. Elyas put his
hands on his shoulders, and looked into the clear eyes, now on a level
with his own.
"Thy father could not have been more glad than I," he said simply.
"I would I could thank thee, goodman," said Hugh, in an unsteady voice,
"for all comes from thee."
"Nay, neither me nor thee, but from One Who gave the gift. And thou--
thou hast kept covenant."
"I looked not for anything like this."
"Doubtless it hath been a little upsetting," said Elyas, with a smile,
"but it hath made Wat as happy as a king. Never was a more faithful
friend, or that had less thought for himself. I verily believe he never
cared for his own work; he did his best simply, and there left it. 'Tis
a rare nature. Alack, alack, I would poor Roger had been as free from
self-seeking!"
"Goodman," said Hugh, hesitatingly, "hast thou heard aught of Roger?"
"I went to the Guildhall from the Cathedral and saw him. I might have
been a stranger and an enemy," Elyas added, sighing, "for all I could
get from him."
"Might I speak for him? Would they hearken? I love him not, in good
sooth," said Hugh frankly, "and I know not what I might have felt if he
had succeeded; but 'tis easy to forgive when he hath done no one harm
but himself. Maybe, sir, he might do better if he had another chance?"
"That may not be here," said the warden, gravely. "Some were for
flinging him into gaol, but they hearkened to me so far that he will be
but heavily fined, and sent from the city, never to return. Speak not
of him. I would rather not grieve on this day. But first, before I
hand thee over to Joan, who doth not yet feel she hath had her share,
first tell me which corbel thou wilt choose? I counsel the one opposite
to that thou hast finished. There is no fairer position for showing the
beauty of thy work."
But Hugh shook his head.
"Nay, I have set my heart upon another."
"And which is that?"
"It is the first which was allotted to me, that on the left as you enter
the choir, where the rood-screen is to stand."
"That!" said Gervase, disappointed. "Bethink thee, Hugh, it is not so
well seen as any of the others."
"Thou hast ever taught us, goodman, that we should give as good work to
the parts which are not seen as to the rest," said Hugh, mischievously.
"But, in truth, I have thought so much of that corbel, and let my
fancies play about it so long, that it seems more mine own than any.
Let me have it."
"Nay, thou must choose for thyself, for none of us can gainsay thee."
"And the other should be kept for thee. I know the guild would have thy
work before any man's."
Gervase's eyes brightened.
"With our Lady and the Blessed Babe--I know not, I know not, I would
liefer have it in thy hands."
"I hold to my own."
"Father, father," cried Joan, running in, "mother bids me ask whether
thou hast told Nicholas Harding to come and help her with the tables?
And she saith Hal will drive her demented unless thou find some errand
for him to do."
Such a feast as Prothasy had prepared! And to it came John Hamlyn, his
wife, and daughter, and Wat, contriving to sit next to Mistress
Margaret, was able to tell her the whole tale, which seemed to her most
marvellously interesting. Also she questioned him much about his own
corbel, and was amazed to think that it should have been a neighbour's
dog which he had set up, and would fain see for herself the unconscious
Spot who had been thus immortalised. And afterwards she spoke very
prettily to Wat's mother, who had come in from her farm, a proud woman
to think what her son had done, and gazing at him as if no mother had
ever another such.
But the happiest perhaps was Joan. With Agrippa in her arms, she sat
next to Hugh, and could whisper to him from time to time, and listen to
what was said, and rejoice with all her faithful little heart. Never
apprentice had won such honour, and never, said Elyas strongly to John
Hamlyn, could one deserve it better. And in the midst of the feast came
a messenger bringing Hugh a gift from the bishop, a reliquary of goodly
workmanship.
Such a day, as Joan said that evening with a sigh of happiness, had
never been before!